


Facial

by SharpestScalpel



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Facial, M/M, spa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2011-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestScalpel/pseuds/SharpestScalpel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones has a most relaxing shore leave; he tells Jim all about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Facial

The fluffy white robe was comfortable, McCoy had to admit that if only to himself. It wasn't that their uniforms were uncomfortable so much as they were utilitarian, meant not to get in the way, not to be distracting (though making the skirts that short seemed pretty counterproductive on that damn score, if you asked him). But the entire environment of the spa where McCoy currently lounged was about tactile experience, right down to the soft cotton that was absorbing some of the oil from his massage. He stretched, long legs propped up on a plush chaise.

"Mr. McCoy?" The spa attendant had a soft voice. He was willing to bet she practiced that soothing tone. She'd have been a good pediatrician. When she saw she had his attention, she smiled. "Stacey's ready for you now unless you'd like to spend some more time in the relaxation room."

He'd picked the spa habit up from Jocelyn - a couples massage had been one of the highlights (well, the highlights they could talk about with other people) of their honeymoon. Over the intervening years, McCoy had sampled other delights from the spa menu. His ex might have gotten everything in the divorce but as soon as McCoy had realized that, yeah, he still had all his nerve endings intact, he'd headed in for a massage and a facial. He'd be damned if she was going to take this from him, too.

"Nah, I'm ready." His voice was raspy from disuse - he hadn't had to speak more than a few words since arriving; most of his interaction with the massage therapist had involved quiet grunts of pleasure as tense muscles were forcibly pressed and kneaded into submission.

He ambled toward the door and followed the attendant to the small room designated for the aesthetician to do her work. He followed the soft instructions without argument, settling into the chair and even going so far as to snuggle in deeper when a blanket was tucked around him.

If he made a little noise of happy contentment as a cool cream he wasn't even going to ask about was spread by gentle fingers across his forehead, well, for once Jim wasn't around to make fun of him for being anything other than a cynical, grumpy bastard.

"You might not be drinking enough water - the dark circles under your eyes can be amplified by dehydration and lack of sleep. I'm going to let this soak in to open your pores and do an eye treatment at the same time; it'll be about ten minutes. Would you like some music while you wait?"

McCoy gave his head the barest shake for a negative - the silence wasn't really silent so much as it was a gentle hum of muffled white noise - and closed his eyes as Stacey settled cucumber slices over his eyes.

God, he loved shore leave.

"I need to use the damn bathroom," McCoy grumbled as he shouldered past Jim into the captain's quarters. Two weeks since shore leave and already he was too goddamn tense. Drinking with Jim would take some of the edge off but he had yet to figure out a better way of ignoring that they were in the middle of space, suspended by what might as well be magic for all he understood it when Scotty really got going talking about the engines. It was possible they were all just crazy damn fools.

Jim gave a dry laugh, called after him. "That's right, Bones, just make yourself at home."

The blond man had seemed different since they came back from shore leave, hadn't seemed to take the opportunity to destress as seriously as the other crewmembers. Jim still had slight bags under his eyes (McCoy could hear Stacey's soft voice lecturing him about proper hydration, which was why he had to pee in the first place) and McCoy had noticed, when they'd met up briefly for lunch, a fine tremor in Jim's hand.

That wasn't going to fly. And things that didn't fly bugged McCoy almost as much as things that did.

Once he'd taken care of business and they'd settled in, conversation minimal, over a couple of glasses of McCoy's favorite bourbon, it was easier to raise the subject.

"So what'd you do on your summer vacation, Jim? I didn't see hide nor hair of you during shore leave."

He scooched down into a position that was terrible for his back but that, at the moment, was about as comfortable as it was possible to be with all his clothes on. Beside him on the loveseat, Jim just felt tense. McCoy kept his eyes on his drink.

And Jim's noncommital answer sounded tense, too. "Oh, I did some surfing. Just hung around. Nothing special."

"I never thought I'd see the day. no dallying with the locals you want to brag about? You didn't collect even one inappropriate story?"

"I didn't feel like it, oaky?" It was a quick snap of an answer, muffled irritation.

He didn't have to keep paying such close attention to his drink when Jim wasn't even looking at him - McCoy turned his body a bit to gape at Jim.

Before he could get a word out, though, Jim was flashing that grin he used on the press - it was fake but it was good. "What about you? You came back... glowing. Shore leave romance?"

He might as well just set up shop as a flycatcher for all he could close his mouth now. McCoy finally managed a gasp of laughter. "What the hell? No." Just a particularly gifted bunch of spa professionals. Though he'd sure as hell felt like proposing to them by the time Elisa Mae had finished the parafin dip portion of his manicure.

"I don't know, you just seem... happier." There were fine crinkles, laugh lines, around Jim's eyes, and McCoy could see them now clear as anything even though Jim wasn't laughing. His mouth might fool the paparazzi but McCoy knew better - the only real indication of Jim's mood was in his eyes.

If McCoy didn't know better, he'd think Jim was hurt. Jealous? It didn't make any sense - Jim was like a ripe flower to honey bees.

"I met some nice ladies. Talented hands." McCoy was thoughtful - it was true, after all. But it still shocked him to see the blue of Jim's eyes dull before the other man masked it.

McCoy was many things: brilliant, moody, loyal. But underlying it all was the same thing that had led to a tentative friendship with Spock of all people; McCoy was curious.

"Good for you, Bones." The lines around Jim's eyes were more strained now but his voice was nothing but jovial. "I'd ask what your favorite part of shore leave was but I know you're a gentleman."

It was true - McCoy never kissed and told, unlike some captains. It was true, McCoy was curious; he was also wicked. "Oh, I'll tell you that - think it must have been the facial."

He'd timed it right. Jim wheezed and choked, the mouthful of liquor searing down exactly the wrong way. McCoy pounded him on the back.

Now Jim's eyes were watering. "That's, uh, thanks for sharing, Bones."

He didn't sound very grateful.

In fact, he sounded kind of unnerved - and that was saying something giving Jim's penchant for ridiculous, nerve-wracking situations. Well, then. That was interesting.

"Facials, Jim. Little bit of heaven on Earth. Or Risa, as the case may be." It wasn't that McCoy was cruel so much as he was just so used to Jim having the upper hand in these situations. "Don't tell me you've never gotten a facial."

It was, McCoy reflected, a damn shame he'd probably not be able to tell anyone that the proudest moment of his career was right now, was making Jim blush like a Rigellian lobster.

But Jim's stuttered admission that, okay, maybe he had a time or two in the past, well, that snuck up on McCoy fast enough to smack him around a little. It wasn't like he'd never thought of Jim in those terms - it'd be hard not to, as much as Jim talked about sex back when they were at the Academy. It was just... McCoy's pride had been hurt by the divorce and he'd been gunshy and... "Aw, that's too bad. I was fixing to volunteer to demonstrate."

Jim was off the couch and, for a moment, McCoy actually thought he looked angry.

"Jesus, Bones. You really did have a good time on shore leave."

"You got a problem with that?"

Instead of leaning forward, McCoy leaned back against Jim's little loveseat, crossed his leg to rest his ankle on the opposite knee, and stretched his arms out across the back of the seat cushions. He also peered intently at Jim, looking for more than what he figured Jim was willing to flat out tell him.

"No. Of course not."

That... seemed to be a big ol' lie if McCoy knew anything about Jim at all. McCoy had not graduated early, at the top of his class, and revolutionized several medical procedures by playing it entirely safe. He leveled a steady look at Jim, who had taken up pacing distractedly in front of the booze shelf. "Then come here."

"What?" The confusion wasn't feigned.

"Come here." McCoy hadn't been planning this - that was an understatement - but he was on to something now and he wasn't about to just let it go. It was in his nature to push. "Sit down."

Lips parted, fingers fidgeting, Jim obeyed with jerky motion. McCoy eased closer, afraid that a quick movement would startle Jim like some sort of unbroken stallion (a comparison he wished he'd never made in the first place because now it just seemed apt all the damn time, thank you very much). He held still, the barest space between their mouths.

"Bones?"

There was something heartbreaking about the tentative wobble of Jim's voice.

It was enough to make him close in with more gentleness than he otherwise might have, just a soft press of his own mouth against Jim's still-parted mouth, just enough to feel to warmth of Jim's skin and the slightly chapped texture of his bottom lip. Jim had a bad habit of gnawing on it, McCoy had noticed - he nibbled at it lightly now.

Jim caught his breath and the excited exhale of it urged McCoy to swipe just inside Jim's mouth, to take a taste of boubon-flavored Jim. It was just the confirmation McCoy had wanted when Jim surged forward, grabbing at McCoy's shoulders, to taste him in return.

It escalated quickly from there.

So quickly that McCoy had the sense memory of Jim's cock in his mouth, the feel of the carpet under his knees, the tightness of Jim's thighs under his hands but not the chronology of how he'd wound up there, sucking and licking, pressing with his tongue to urge more broken sounds from Jim. Not that he was complaining.

Jim wasn't complaining either, not if the involuntary motions of his hips were any indication, not if the whimper that escaped when Bones took it slow and easy and deep was any indication.

"Bones, you have to... I'm going to..." Jim's hands flew up from where they had been clutching at the cushions to cover Jim's eyes.

But McCoy had no intention of stopping - instead he pulled back until the head of Jim' erection was all that was in his mouth, stroked the shaft with his hands, grateful for the copious lubrication of saliva and pre-come. Then he tongued at the slit and sucked, hard.

It was gratifying - and he meant that with his dick, he really did - to hear Jim curse as his body went still and McCoy's mouth filled. He continued to stoke Jim with his hands but he pulled back just far enough for the next spurt of come to land on his cheek, the warm fluid wetness of it a tangible marking, a statement he wanted Jim to see.

What Jim saw, McCoy imagined, when the blond finally opened his eyes and stared, sated and vulnerable, at the place where McCoy crouched between his open legs, was McCoy with his hair going every which direction, a smear of come across the bridge of his nose, and a dripping line of it sliding down toward his jaw.

"Fuck, Bones." It was a whisper, before Jim slid forward to tumble McCoy onto his back, Jim's mouth already at work, licking and sucking at his own come.

"Yeah," McCoy's voice was raspier than it had been back at the spa on shore leave. "I reckon we can do that." He held Jim away for a moment, long enough to make eye contact. "And you can come with me next time. We'll set you up with the whole deal: massage, facial, manicure. You'll love it."

Jim's squawk of outrage was muffled, though, when McCoy kissed him again.


End file.
